The reader should, with ink, make the following 
corrections in the text before reading. 

Misgivings for misgiving. 

Prophecy " prophesy. 

Lineament " linement. 

Here " hear. 

Place comma after mother. 

Eyes for eves. 

Omit (.) after indeed. 

Omit (.) after distinctly. 

Crying for cryidg. 

(,) after power and after own. 

' Omit (.) after grieve. 
Place that before the. 
Door for ooor. 
Conceited for conceated. 
Currish for currism. 

Omit to in rescue to one. 

(.) after sister. Brutes for brute. 

Place (!) after what. 

Grimy for grim. 

Externe for external. 



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54 




FRANGISQUE 



A TRAGEDY. 



BY- 



LOUIS E. SALMON, 



AND F. W. BALD, Jr. 



y/?^ 



n, 



1 884. 



(COPYRIGHT, 1885.) 



C. C. BARTGIS <& BRO., PRINTERS, 
No. 21 SOUTH STREET, BALTIMORE, MD. 







f &^ 



DRAMATIS PERSON2E, 



Madame Designiers 

Pierre, her son 

Francisque, her daughter 

Louis Chesin, lover to Francisque... 

M. Robespiere, adventurer 

Mouchet, accomplice of Robespiere. 

Marie, wife to Mouchet 

Therese, his daughter , 

Landlord 

A Servant of Louis 

Peasant 

Abductors 



TMPS6-006650 



FRANGISQUE 



SCENE. — At Paris and surrounding country. 



ACT I. 

SCENE I. 

A room of the Designiers' house. Madame, 
working embroidery is meditative. 



Mother. 
It is — like a flash it breaks upon me, 
Stirring my soul to inward agitation; 
It is three years this day that Pierre did go, 
In obedience to the call for freedom. 
Three — long — years. Alas! sad forebodings 
Take hold on me and try to make me theirs. 
These misgivings I would fain shake off, 
But am unable. 

Hope!j'o« have well-nigh forsaken me; 
How oft when )'ou had left me to dejection, 
And to brooding o'er the gloomy future; 
Did not Francisque, thy keeper, my dear daughter, 
Restore you to me brighter than erewhile 
Because of darkness that had gone before ! 
Pierre, Pierre, sad misgiving rise, 
To taunt and mock me at thy prolonged absence; 
Bitter, the war that took you from me; though 
American liberty and independence 
Well might seek the aid of foreign power. 
And from France receive propitious answer; 
As to fall, for such a cause, were to 
Be wished — but God, why do I think of death! 
Is it, by the fell prophesy, that witch 
Of yore had foretold to my aged grandsire? 
Again it does recur to me piercing 
The mem'ry, when, her incantation done, 
She blustered out this domineering insolence; 

It is decreed that with your race, 

Satanic evils shall keep pace. 

There'll follow you both grief and pain ; 

Though here and ther(J respite you'll gain. 

And when about your race to end, 

Shall misery, madness, murder, send. 

horrible and were my son. — 

Enter Francisque. {gaily) 
Franc. Why, dear mother, why that gloomy cloud 
Spreading o'er your face serene and sweet? 
It ill becomes you, away with it and give 
Room for happier thoughts. [thinking of. 

Moth, {sonvioficlly.) Ah Francisque, poor Pierre I'm 
T'is he that occupies my thoughts by day 
And night; save when your sprightly spirit shames 
My despair, which, discomfited, straight makes off. 

1 would fain make room for happier thoughts 
To take the place of these so sorrowful. 

And heaped with anxious solicitude, Francisque; 
But there are none such for me, I fear. 
{Franc, sits on hassock at mother's feet.) 
Franc, And I know the reason of it, mother. 
These happy thoughts would indeed approach; 



But terrified and startled at your aspect. 

So serious and so sad, they hasten off'. 

Were you but once to gladly welcome them, 

They would quickly take possession of you 

And force out all those grim and ghastly ones. 

Moth. Truly I doubt whether in the struggle 

They would come off victorious; for remember 

They are unceasingly of Pierre. 

Franc. While you nurse presentiments of ill. 

I have but presages of joy to come. 

I feel almost that he is present now; 

I can see that cut upon his arm, 

Inflicted by the cruel steel; that scar 

Upon his brow, the warrant of the heroism 

With which he defends the cause espoused. 

I see him in all manly grace: tall. 

Grand — mother, if you could but see him thus ! 

Moth. What far-reaching prescience is yours. 

My dear, would that you'll not be deceived. 

Franc. I'll not be I assure you, 

Mother, I'll to the garden and collect 

Some flowers for you: nature's fragrant work. 

The Lilly of the Valley shall first be ta'en; 

For that denotes return of absent joy; 

But the Lupine shall not be so favored; 

Since hopelessness you have cast out and it 

Is no more yours. 

Moth. Put there too the Rosemary, I pray ; 

For your presence ever revives me. 

Franc. Indeed! and the white violet and sweet pea, 

And myrtle and what else there pleases me. 

Moth. Then I pray you don't forget the rose 

And you know he'd like the color red. 

Franc. All right, t'is done as said. {Exit) 

Moth. The dear child, how hopeful she is indeed. 

Nothing is able to turn her will so fixed 

And so determined, that in truth, I half 

Believe that happiness will yet be mine. 

If Pierre should come, now after three years. 

Ah me ! we have not heard from him in all 

That time ; something must indeed have happened. 

That prevented him from writing to us. 

Aye, something has befallen him. 

All's silent as the grave concerning him. 

To think, three — years he has been gone. 

Ah Pierre, it is imprinted on my memory 

Your form, your every feature when you left; 

Every linement of your visage — 

Francisque re-enti ring {concludes Mother's sentence) 
Franc. Is hope itself. Yes, dear mother, hear they 
Are mother not beautiful? {After alloioing mother to 
smell puts them in a vase) 
By the way, I forgot to tell you 
A pleasant dream that I last night enjoyed 
And hope soon to be realized. 
Moth. Another presage, no doubt, of joy, even 
Like the other, am I not right ? 

Well, let me share with you your dreaming prospect. 
Franc. Aye gladly, — Listen : 



Amid a tield of standing; corn 
Bowing their heads to the inducing breeze, 
I lay, gazing upward to the heavens; 
Clouds in thick masses hung o'er head 
And at the place where they densest seemed, 
A rent disclosed a spirit sailing swift, 
Down, right toward me; 
Hovering there right before my very eyes 
He spoke : "Pierre, thy brother, is alive; 
Although pursuant death has just passed by. 

He will live and " 

Moth. A dream my child, but a mirage oasis 

To tantalize me in the sterile desert 

Of my fearful anxieties. 

Franc. My dear mother, is it not possible. 

Nay, even probable, that my dream 

Is a harbinger of what's the future, 

Gradually to woo us to our joys; 

Rather than on a sudden to drown us 

In the torrent of coming happiness? 

The fate of Tantalus shall not be ours. 

Moth. Ah ! my child, if 

Fran. That this celestial dream of mine, 

Was given only to be gazed at and be 

Drunk in by thirsting eves and devoured 

By greedy, starting stares. 

Fear not, that, surrounded by the fruit 

Of our desires, we cannot enjoy them. 

The dream shall have substance that will feed 

Our hungry, waiting hopes. 

Moth. I am glad you think so; and do you know 

I almost feel the same as you ? God bless 

Your dream and make it fruitful. 

Franc. Mother, have you not yet read my dream? 

Here it is, scy (^holding up a letter.) in truth a letter. 

Moth. Thank God ! 

Franc. From your Pierre, I was in the garden 

When I beheld the courier coming in — 

Snatched the letter he extended, feeling 

In me it must be from him. Listen : {reading it.) 

Dear Mother and Dear Francisque : — 

By the grace of God you will see me soon. I 
am just arising from my sick bed at the hospital at 
Hampden. 

Two years have I lain here, often at the point of 
death and at other times I was too weak to speak. I 
now awake to consiousness and strengh sufficient to 
dictate to a dear friend these few words for you. 

Thank God, I will very soon be able to see you 
both again. Dearest mother how I long for it. 
Your ever loving 

Pierre. 
Moth. How acceptable this dream; ever 
Are you, the balm of my sorrowing heart, 
Francisque, may the Almighty quickly speed him. 
Fran. Amen, and in answer to your prayer 
Soon will he be here; for looking at the date, 
T'is evident that seven months have passed 
Since it was sent. 
Moth. Ah happy day. — Let's now to tea. (exeunt) 

Pierre (enters from his journey.) 
What ! no one here ! so it seems; 
They have I see retreated in advance. 
I will indeed surprise them. Why it is 
Three years I've been away; yet I hardly 
See a change; the old clock in the corner 
Still ticks away in equal measured accents. — 
Index of all time, how often have you 
Made your circle, since last you saw me here ? 

(setting down his bundles.) 
This luggage here is somewhat strange I know; 
But so am I and thus we are on level ground, 
I will near time learn to know you better. 
I wonder now when they received my letter; 
Whether they expect me, about this time; 
Or have waited anxiously; or in 



The future wait me to come home. 

(Picking up a book.) 
This book I've seen a hundred times. 
It's full of sentimental rhymes. 
How comes it that she reads it now. 
Her heart is lost I vow — I vow 

(Picks up embroidery) 
Is it mother's or Francisque's 

I'll awav and there it rests. (Throws it down.) 

E.xit. 



SCENE II. 
Scene same as Scene I. 



(Enter Pierre and Francisque follo~^<ed by A/other.) 
Fran. Well, young man you have till now neglected 
To render an account of your adventures. 
Doubtless, they are of a startling nature. 

(Fran, sits facing the 'window, opening on the garden) 
Pier. Then immediately, my dear Francisque, 
With your good will, I'll make reparation. 
From the moment Neptune hailed us, will I 
In pithy speech, recount my bold exploits; 
For such iv« seem bent on calling them. 
The voyage was a very pleasant one 
As fiery thoughts did battle with the billows; 
Arriving at our destination in eight 
Weeks from our departure, near two months 
Previous to the defeat of Cornwallis, 
At that now far fatned siege of Yorktown, 
In which the enthusiastic young men 
Of our regiment had the infinite pleasure 
Of taking part, as they expressed it. 
When we were ordered up against the foe. 
Fr.-vn. You then took part in the decisive battle? 
Pier. Yes, I raised my hand and they did flee. 
Fran. Did they that very thing performed indeed? 
Pier. That shameful deed did they in truth accom- 

[plish. 
Moth. I'm glad to see you in this humour Pierre ; 
But yet of serious things do not make light. 
Pier. You are in the right, my mother dear, 
Now I'll tell all that you desire me to 
And satisfy e'en you, Francisque. 
Speaking of my humour it reminds me 
That t'was no pleasant humour, when wounded, 
I was borne to the hospital. 

Moth. Ah, tell us how that came about my son. 
Pier. T'was near the termination of the war. 
After the enemy's 

Snrrender, our company was sent west. 
Where sad havoc and butchery, by the foe, 
Allianced with a tribe of Indians, was being 
Perpetrated. 

Here, prostrated by the intense heat 
Of that western country's sun, want 
Of our former stinted rations and by 
Wounds from the poisoned arrows of those fiends. 
My shattered health gave way. 
Moth. (Aside) Poor boy ! 

Pier. I was then from place to place conveyed 
In uncovered wagon with others wounded ; 
Untold pains being suffered thus. 
And ahnost every ill imaginable. 
Till Hampden's hospital caused part relief; 
Unconscious was I long periods of my stay. 
Therefore unable to write sooner to you. 
Moth. Son, the Lord has kindly saved you for us. 
Pier. Aye, it was through the grace of God, that with 
But few others of the many patients, 
I survived the war and wasting illness. 
Moth. Praise God for his everlasting kindness! 
Fran. T'is true. Amen, and for the termination 
Of this direful war, in which the .Spartans 



5 



Of America have won their noble end. 
Pier. Considering all they are a brave nation. 
Yes, America is a nation on the earth. 
Laudations for their courage and bold daring ! 
But like some at home there are queer ones 
Too among them. 

Fran. Ah I — I should like to hear of their 
Peculiarities. T'would be agreeable. 
Pier. I can not tell a great deal ; their tongue 
At first was strange to me; but as a people 
They are kind, industrious in peace ; 
Though in war they fight like very demons. 
Like tornadoes they rush upon the foe 
And are most times as destructive. 
Three cheers, cry I, to American valor. [France. 

Fran. And three for Rochambeau, DeGrasse and 
Moth. Let your enthusiasm now subside, 
My warriors bold, brave scions of our house, 
And tell me of their lives — their habits. 
Are the customs there the same as ours? 
Are they a phlegmatic people? 
Pier. Far indeed are they from this nature. 
They have more of that excitability 
For which we, the French, are noted. 
As I said they are quick and active. 
Those I noticed who went not to war. 
Busied themselves about their farms and fields 
And served the country with the fruit they bore. 
They toiled from Aurora's first appearance 
Till she resumed her watery couch again. 
By the way, thinking of queer ones there. 
After I was allowed to leave my bed, 
I came across a strange old oddity. 
Who, however, gave me good advice; 
Him, fate had favored \Vith an imperfection 
Much to his profit; — t'was curiosity. 
Very soon it became insufferable 
And then I sought to put an end to it. 
{J\Iotlier going out says: 
Moth. Curiosity; listen to the sequel P'rancisque. 

{Exit) 
Pier. On some occasions it put him in a frenzy. 
At first, he wonders if they have diamond bath-tubs 
Up in heaven and if from one single 
Plate of diamond they are formed. 
Whether fair angels there would tender him. 
Sweet ambrosia and dilicious nectar 
And robe him in purple garments at his bath. 
Then I, surprised at his infirmity. 
Would grow aware of his descent to earth 
At finding his hand most stealthly 
Curious of the contents of my pocket. 
Now thought I his whim takes a strange turn 
And for excuse of this so curious act, 
He'd say, "we should seek wisdom everywhere." 
Fran. And when you would upbraid him for it? 
Pier. Then in patronizing air: "my son 
Wisdom may be gotten from a fool." 
Fr.an. Ha, Ha ! good man ! he proved conclusively 
That you were not the fool. For he extracted 
Not from you the wisdom of your pocket ; 
T'nough he did that of your head. 
However, he meant not that kind, I assure you. 
Pier. Did you ever hear of such a case ? 
Fran. Ah yes, one somewhat similar and on 
Comparison of the two, cannot but conclude 
That your old man is the father of him. 
This one too you will surely meet. 
Pier. O ! I hope not. I pray not. 
Fran. Your prayer is in vain ; you 7t'///meet him. 
The reason I believe he is of the same 
Family as your curious reverend. 
Is, that each is distinguished by some trait 
Which is conspicuous over any other 
They may chance to have. 
I'll tell you the touch of nature which 



Pronounces this one, in order that you may know him, 

As soon as he comes in contact with you. 

The secret is : he thinks himself a painter, 

Though he has never touched nor brush nor paint, 

He imagines if he were so inclined 

He could surpass all in this art. 

Pier. But does not the fantasy unfit him 

For othor labor? I should think that work 

And such ideas were incompatible. 

Fr.vn. No indeed, on the contrary, he is very apt ; 

And for that reason only is he tolerated. 

Pier. He is tolerated is he — not much by me. 

Fran. We shall see. But Pierre, how glad we are 

That you're returned, but do you know that I 

Have had perfect faith in it, I felt it. 

Pierre, Fortune has raised from us a weighty 

Load in leading you home into our midst. 

But oh ! a heavier one I fear will take 

Its place. Mother says the storm will rise 

Before we shall have reached our mortal end. 

All France she says will cower 'neath its rage. 

Pier. Pray tell me. Miss Prophetess, what makes 

[say so. 
Fran. Ah dear Pierre, do not deride me thus. 
Sufficient causes every day exist 

That make us think so. Troublesome times indeed. 
Are these. It was but yesterday that Louis 
Did tell us of a man the name of whom — 

{^She is silent tliinging she Items something in 
the garden. 
Pier. W^hy are you silent? — What is it? 
Fran. Did you not hear a noise as of a body falling? 
Pier. No indeed, sister, I heard nothing. 
Fr.\n. I'm almost sure /did, — so distinctly. 
As if I had seen it. 

Pier. It is nothing, for I'm gifted with keen 
Ears and would have heard it. 

(Goes to the unndow and looks out.) 
Nothing as I said. You were remarking 
That your Louis spoke of a man whose name — 
Fran. Oh yes I remember now. I said 
Louis told mother and me that his name 
Before long time would pass, would be known 
Through all the country round ; ambition is 
The god he does worship and which to gain 
Would make all things quickly stoop to his 
Imperious will ; and steep his soul in criine. 
Pier. Dear sister, I see now why you were startled 
A moment since; you have been thinking 
Deeply on the state of affairs 
You are relating to me. Your fertile fancy 
Has conjured up something to frighten you. 
Fran. {Ironieally.) You are observant brother dear; 
But he likewise said to us that though 
Now but little known and quite obscure. 
He'll soon have men to bless and some to curse him. 
His name is Rob — 

Pier. Why — he will indeed do serious harm 
If there be not those to circumvent him 
But tell me, who is this Louis your confidant? 
Fran, [blushing) An old acquaintance Louis Chesin. 
Pier. Ah ! is he not a very dear — 
Francisque screams and points toward the windorv cryidg: 
Fran. Pierre — see — [rushes out.) 

[Pierre hurries into the garden.) 



SCENE III. 
The Dessigniers' garden with the house at the 
side, over which climbs the mistletoe 
SUiVSET. 
Pier. What could so have agitated her? 
I see no one. An illusion it was no doubt 
Caused by thoughts of these perplexing times. 
And yet methinks 1 heard retreating footsteps; 
But certainly 1 have deceived myself, 
Still it is quite singular how her look 
Of horror burns its way into my heart. 
I'll look again. 

Some one may be secreted in that clump of 
Bushes — No, 'tis nothing how foolish I am 
To think so. I'll go in and allay her fears 
As best I might. But that look ! I'll ne'er 
Forget it. [Going to the window he sees a letter beneath it. 
Ah, and what is this ? {picking it up.) 
What ! a letter! Francisque must have dropped it, 
I'll — but perhaps by some one else, 
What! is it possible that this has indeed 
Connection v.'ith Francisque's fright? 
Yes, yes, I see — she was startled by something 
At the window, she saw a form 
Peering in on her at the window place. 
She is right, that form has dropped this note. 
But what can the intention be? For whom 
Is it? And why delivered in such a manner? 
If for Francisque, why ha\e such a bearer? 
One that has terrified and startled her. 
The only way to get at it is to 
Open it, whether it may be 
For good or ill ; at all events /'// know. 
And /alone, if from friend or foe. {Opens.) 

Louis : 

The bearer of this is Jean Freinil. Do you 
Know that there will soon be need to use him? 
Ha ! Ha ! to think of our last undertaking ! 
How nicely we slipt through and not a shadow 
Cast upon your spotless reputation. 
Speaking of Jean, he is henceforth my messenger. 
Sooner than endanger me, as for 
Instance by this letter, he'd gulp it down 
And swear by all the gods, boiled kittens are not 
Good for dinner, they do beget a choking 
In the throat. Apropos, are you 
Pushing home that little game of yours? 
Will she soon yield her reluctant citadel? 
Pull through, Louis, 'twill aid our present plan. 
And now adieu ; on hand at lo to-night. 

M. R. 
What can this mean ? 

Have matters come indeed to such a pass ? 
'Tis but as they have told me. (Looking at the paper.) 
Louis — Louis, — 

Is written to, Louis who? Louis Chesin? 
No, away foul thought ! I'll not harbour you. 
And it reads: 'will she soon yield her reluctant 
Citadel? To whom does she refer? 

Francis 

No, I'll not think of it. And signed M. R. 
Our Louis is good and virtue personified. 

[Reading the letter.) 
"And Louis not a shadow 
Cast upon your spotless reputation." 
What! Louis treacherous? t'is false. 
A cursed lie. 

The whole, I swear, a base fabrication. 
Not unintentionally dropt; but with 
Bold design and evil placed there. [Putting azoay.) 
I'll keep it and watch developments. 
If such a thing were possible to Louis, 
What advantage would there be, or gain, 
By such a course as is here depicted? 
None; which shows the worth of this base 



Libel ; it has no power to make me suspect 
The noble and the artless ; by this I know 
That some conspiracy is being hatched 
And the auliior thereof the writer of this. 

Diking it out. 
M. R. Who can that rascal be? 
Warily will I get it from Francisque ; 
For t'is obvious she knows something of him ; 
Sin,ce he's so well acquainted with our affairs 
I'll get it from her, that she know nothing of it. 

Enter Mother and Francisque. 
Pier. [Laughing) Ha! Ha! since when are you ac- 
To be terrified at nothing? [customed^ 

Fran. No, No I am assured that what I saw 
Was real ; no deceptive fantasie, 
But a horrible reality. 

Pier. [Laughing.) Francisque, what, may I ask, was 
The horrible reality? Was it 
Possessed of shape or did it float in air 
Endowed with horrid figure and strange form ? 
Fran. O heaven, how it shook my very senses. 
And made them leap and wildly rush about me. 
I was talking there, you know Pierre, 
When I saw peering tlirougli the window on me 
A man's ugly visage ; it was 
Marked with a devilish grin as if he had 
Accomplished some fell purpose and was chuckling 
With delight at its success ; so it seemed 
To me, in that moment that I saw it, 
How my blood grew cold ; had you not been 
There I could not have moved. I shall never 
Till my last day forget it. 

Moth. In truth, my child ; this is as I feared, 
E.xciting thoughts have overturned 
The balance of your mind so well centered. 
Fran. Would that I could think the same 
But 'tis impossible. [She 'with Pierre sits on one bench: 
the mother on another opposite.) 

Pier. Francisque, is there cause for your persistence? 
Is there ought that you keep hidden ? Such 
Thing only could justify your strange belief. 
Moth. No, 'tis but as we have said and now 
I'll leave you, Pierre, to dispel her fears. 
And in short space I'll join you. [Exit.) 
Fran. I'm pleased that mother coincides with you ; 
For 'twould put a load upon her hard to bear. 
And such anxiety would undermine 
Her health still more ; and yet I'm fearful 
Lest harm may come of this. 
Pier. Tush. Francisque, imaginations are 
Such wily articles and at once 
So fitful, that they ingratiate 
Themselves within us and soon 
Cause us to cringe to them in servile terror. 
So believe me, you will see no more 
Of your grim, startling apparation ; 
Uuless you desire it, when as 
Aladdeu's genie, it stands before you. 

Fran. Pierre, I make to you this proposition. 

Which anyone cannot but call fair: 

If nothing more is heard of what I saw. 

And no trace of his vile form is found, 

I'll renounce my firm belief as visionary; 

So strongly do I believe this sight 

Is the forerunner of ones to come. 

Growing out of this and still more horrible. 

Pier. I'm very glad to hear your determination ; 

For I'm pursuaded this is the last of it. 

And therefore, now, let us to something else. 

You remember that you spoke of Louis, 

I recall him to my memory now 

As we sat all together that last evening. 

Is he the same old jolly fellow ? 



Fran. That he is ; but still at times I see 

When he is absent minded and vacant in IiIn 

Look ; as he were engaged in serious 

Thought, or some trouble held him ; but these 

Moments are very rare, otherwise 

He is the same. 

Pier. [ArtfiiHy.) "Fis somewliat strange that lie is 

And absorbed in deep reflection; yet [absentmindeti, 

He may have in mind some pursuit 

That requires attentive care. 

Fran. No, I think he's brooding over troubles 

Looming up in the political 

Horizon ; and these atTect him, you know 

I mentioned who would be 

Pier. {Asiiie.) 'Twas signed M. R. ( Tlicn to Fran'.) 
Did you not say liis name, Maurice Ritande? 
Fran. No indeed, it is Maximillian Robespierre. 
Pier. {Starts.) All I 

Fran. What is it ? Do • 

Pikr. Did not some one call? 

{Behind the hno garden 70ali, iti the kme, drunkards are 
staggering about. A little girl enters the lane on the 
opposite side, playing a violin. She is assaulted by the 
drunkards.) 
Fran. I heard nothing; but perhajis 

( '/'he girl erys for help, Louis enters the lane and says 
to the drunkards.) 

Lou. Here cowardly dogs, run oft" or Lll 
Make this your last prey and short work of you, 
Fran. That is my Louis, Louis. {Grasping Pierre's 
anil.) 
Pier. Lie calm Francisque, let me go and 

{One man stabs Louis in the arm, girl sereams help. 
Pierre loosens the hold of Franeisquc 7oho runs into the 
house, then he hastens into the lane. 7 he drunkards 
iiuike off. The girl thrown doion is being carried into 
the house by Pierre. Louis walks into the garden. 

Lou. But to whom am I indebted for this 

Timely aid ; had it not been for you 

What ! Pierre is it you ! 

Pier. Aye, in flesh and blood and truly glad 
To see you Louis ; yet not glad to see you 
Bloody as you are ; a serious wound 
The fellow gave you, and the crimson stream, 
Flowing quickly through the ugl)' vent, 
Would make one's loving heart at once to bleed 
Through pity at beholding such a sight, 
{Binding ivitJi a kerchief.) 
So for the moment let me bind it 
That Francisque see not the ghastly wound : 
And now FU take this little -.^irl within 
To be cared for there ; then quick to you 
I come with bandage that shall staunch the blood. 

{Taking girl from the seat loliere he had placed her, he 
is about to enter when Francisque returns^) 
Fran. O Louis ! Louis ! you are hurt, cruel blood is 
Pier. Francisque see, she's unconscious [oozing — 
While — no use, there is but one magnet 
And that is Louis ; 'tis best leave them alone. {Fxit.) 
Lou. And have these drops the power my own to 
Thy gentle heart ; then speedily to tears [grieve. 

They are transformed weeping at thy pain. 
Ah ! what efficacy in them lies 
When a few red drops, all too unworthy 
To be viewed by you, so rudely chase 
The blooming roses from thy cheeks, and blanch 
Them with solicitioiis anxiety. 
Thrice happy blood that hath unwittingly 
Revealed the love that maidenly reserve 
Could ne'er have forced itself to tell, though being. 
I pray thee deny it not, my bold words 



Pardon, then this red mediator sueing 

Thus to thee, will quick seal up this gap 

And joyful to my heart will backward bound 

And there be treasured as thy priceless gift. 

Fr.\n. Ivouis, bid it quickly backward course for I 

Must obey my heart's dictates. Yet how 

Could I play the hero seeing blood? 

How could one but pale at that copious 

Effusion, seeming never to find end? 

Therefore to this you must indeed attribute 

My terror, which still holds possession of me. 

Lou. My own Francisque, vvith thy dear lips' 

First utterance, the music of the spheres 

Could scarce compare, though celestial beings 

Are wont in ecstasies to fall on hearing it. 

Vet my love, heaven is where thou art. 

And thy smile the sun illumining it ; 

But when away, tliis world's a desert drear 

And life vapid, sunless, dark and cold 

Then let {LTe falls back unconscious.) 

Fran. Why Louis what is the matter? are you — 
O heaven! curses on him who with murderous blade — 

rally ! revive ! first his profuse bleeding, which 
excessive loss of blood weakened him — help Pierre 
come the wound has burst open, he became exhausted 
by his speaking. O dear Louis, wake up come, 
because of worthless me has your strength been 
spent, Louis ! Dear Louis, — in molding golden words. 

{Pierre enteis supplied with bandages) 
Pier. Well, at last the little girl has regained con- 
sciousnecs and is now — but what is wrong here, has 
the wound opened? And he unconscioustoo — quick, 
some water please. {Exit Francisque.) what great 
censure do I not deserve for my remissness, how can 

1 reprove myself sufficiently for this neglect? — but 
ril soon make amends, there ■ 

{F'inish bandage on his arm) 
And once more I see life returning 
And his eyes ope to consciousness 

(Enter Fran loith 7oater) 
Here Louis, this will quickly set you right. 

{L^ouis haz'ing drunk it) 
Lou. I can myself scarce comprehend wherefore 
This exhibition of unmanly weakness 
But for which I trust I am forgiven ; 
Not ? ( Looking at Francisque) 
Fran. W^hen my imposed condition you fulfill. 
Lou. And that is ? 

Fran. Ne'er to let the cause of it again 
Occur and thereby ne'er to grieve me more. 
Lou. That it has so harshly touched you, pains me 
More than fifty thousand gashes could. 
But Pierre, what of your little charge ? I fear 
Lest self-occupied I neglect others: 
Pier. She has recovered consciousness ; but I 
Fear has been roughly handled for she 
Is utterly exhausted and so feeble 
She scarce could give her name, Therese Mouchet, 
Notwithstanding by great strain and effort 
She anxiously inquired for her rescuer. 
So now let us go in, to her and mother. 
While Louis and Francisque are going into the house, 
Pierre says aside.- 

Pier: T'is hardly credible that he be false. 
How can he after such a noble act ? 
Yet this note {touchins^- it) — and oft a guise like this. 
Exit. 



SCENE IV. 

A hut in the slums of Paris. 

Robespierre enters by means of a key. Then he locks 

the door; lights three candles, placing two in 

the window behind the red curtain 

as a signal. 



Robe. There — I hope he'll slap his greedy eye 

On that. Avarice will compel him to 

Unless he is so drunk he cannot see. 

'Tis queer indeed, that he is most sucessful 

In his vilest act when beastly drunk. 

For my part I can scarce believe it. 

It would seem to me, that his brain would 

Become so sluggish that there could not flow out 

The clever plans to promote his wicked end, 

Wicked! rather devilish villainies. 

Ha ! ha ! but that's the man for me, 

And for my purpose. I wonder how he fared. 

It was quite a dangerous operation 

{Fitts another cJiair to the tabic.) 
To be sure ; but Mouchet knows his pocket 
And how best to fill it with the slocking 
Stones ; and so I wager he has done it. 
Well I must now administer something 
To his wants and thereby will promote 
The cause of loud mouthed temperance, 
For if I get him not something warm to drink. 
He'll be as sullen and as barren as 
.A sterile mare; well I'll not begrudge it him. 

I'll be repaid a hundred fold, ha ! \\a ! {oetting liquor) 

But did the idiot get the letter! 

How then ; his mind against Louis is embittered 

As the stinging caustic galls the ilj-.h ; 

And that's just to my purpose : 

By these incentives I will goad him on 

To think this Chesin a treacherous devil 

And then my dear Louis, where'ill be Francisque? 

Ho ! ho ! by that time I'll have her so fast 

That one could think we are Gordian ii>.'ii. 

Then all will be mine ; revenge on this 

Devilish fool Chesin. — mine — Francisque 

And the money coming by it, ha ! ha ! 

And so far has worked {hesitating) the plot but to 

My benefit ; — but if — 

If what, you quaking, pale faced coward ! 

Wash it down {he drinks) ah. 

That's the color of it, bright, sparkling. 

Fierce as the wild-cat, tearing one's fears 

Into ten thousand atoms. 

Well, when will he arrive ? If he play me 

False, by heaven, 'twill take ten years to gather 

His remains. Much I fear he can 

Be bought by promise of a larger sum, 
Enter Mouchet {Stealthily) 

He's of that nature, but let me once but have 

Mine end and he shall seek some higher realm 

To vaunt his internecine qualities. 

As on this world he'd be an unsafe animal ; 

I wonder if his brain, so fertile in odd 

Jobs like these, can devise a plan 

By which I might gain possession of her. 
{Mouchet advancing to the table) 

Mou. It can be done, it is not hard to do ; 

I have begun and I shall shove it through. 

Robe. How are you here, in what way did you enter? 

Mou. Does it not concern you how I fared 

In my new trade of courier? He has the letter. 

Robe. I did not hear you come in 

Mou. Great wonder is there at it. I did see 

The signal in the window. Here I be. 
But I beg your pardon ; my curiosity 
Is aroused ; no doubt that jug contains 
Some — milk ? does it not ? 



Robe. Yes, highly flavored pure burgundy milk. 

They told me it is rich and old ; but not 

A jot will I believe, until I have 

Your judgment on the matter. I pray you taste it. 

Mou. I — I — dont care to — I — 

Robe. Nonsense, have no such scruples ; I beg you 

Give me 'your opinion of it. 

Mou. W^ell — then, I'll merely taste it. 
{He drinks half the contents) 

Robe. {Aside) Good heavens ; 

Mou. Y'es, it's fairly good ; at any rate 

It is not bad and you're the lift forme. 

Robe. {Aside) That you'll later see. {Aloud), but the 

Did you watch him, as he read the letter? [letter, 

Mou. When does the toying cat fling by the mouse ? 

No sooner I. He read the letter and at 

Short intervals did cry : "the filthy wretch, 

The dog, the venom-toothed reptile ; ah ! 

But I will have revenge. I'll rip from out 

His lying breast the confession coming slow, 

And kick him from the earth." 

Then thanked he timely Providence and poured 

Out benediction that the villain was 

Unmasked and so I left the cully. 

Robe. Well have you performed and well merit 

Your reward that I'll doubly increase 

For your success to which I drink. 

{He drinks and extends to Mouchet) 
Mou. In thanks I'll take a little sip from it. 

He drinks all, then overturns it to see if any vuve is there. 

Its very good, but it is not honest 

To have a false bottom on a thing like that. 

Yet its rareness is only exceeded by my 

Cunning artifice and bravery. 

Robe. Then what step next is proper to our end ? 

Can not your understanding see at once? 

Mou. Once more I act and she is in your hands. 

Robe. Friend, I hear you're noted for quick work, 

But tell me how you'll grasp the nettle now? 

Mou. {Htartkssly) With a heavy hand. Listen ! it 

Two days since that Therese was beset [was 

Upon the road by drunkards; she was beaten 

Sorely ; but rescued and carried to 

A house that stood near by. It is Dessigniers.' 

The same night, learning from my child 

Who her mother is, they sent her word 

To come and stay by Therese ; as the latter 

In her present state, if moved, would die. 

This she did. And now, my bon confrere — 

Look here, that sample stuff was fairly good. 

Let me see your other and I'll tell you — 

But mind, in confidence, if it's the same. 

Robe. I see you are the same. 

Mou. Being the same, so much am I the better 

Able to judge the same ; for were I different. 

The liquor too would be in — different kind of — 

And consequently not for me. 

{Robe, has brought the liqtwr) 
And consequently 'tis for me, I mean — 
To worm from her such information I may 
Need and though with cause she her fate deplores. 
Two days let pass and she is yours. 
Robe. A bold design, which may fortune favour. 
You know what awaits you when it is done. 
Mou. Yes chum, I know all that, but I cannot 
Drink the milk of expectation, nor fill 
My hungry gorge upon sirenic hopes. 
Nor sleep without hard gold beneath my head ; 
So, my brother suppose you give me something 
Now — just to satisfy me — something small. 
Say but a few hundred. 
Robe. What, you fool, I tell you I cannot now; 



But remember, the sooner your part's accomplished 

The quicker you'll have your francs and 

A nice big sum there'll be. 

Mou. To all of which I do agree, but hear — 

Listen, T must see a part of that 

Nice big sum, now, do you hear, I've done 

Enough already to merit half the pay, 

And if I were so inclined as to 

Ascribe my doings to you, how would — 

Oh no! don't start — I meant nothing. 

You'll give it to me won't you? 

Robe. Yes, [Aside) curse him. 

Mou. Certainly I'll curse him and gratis too, 

"As on this world he'd be an unsafe animal !" 

Robe. What did you remark? Where did you — 

Mou. Oh, that's all right, we are now becoming 

Well acquainted with each other, but how 

About the 

Robe. Look here my friend, Lm in a little trouble 
Now, wait until tomorrow night 
And you shall have it. 

Mou. Ld like to accommodate a friend ; 
But am myself a little pressed and there 
Is a man from whom I could — oh, yes. 
You know him — but you'll please lend me four or 
Five hundred francs this evening. 
Robe. Certainly if you wish it. 
And I swear to you that by your deed. 
If successful, you'll make that much that you'll 
Consider me more liberal to yourself 
Than me, for it is not especially 
The money that I prize, but the that power 
Of revenge is given me, for that 
Louis of hers, I hate the dog; and I 
Most completely vent my spleen upon him. 
When I snatch her from him, ajipropriating 
Her to my own use. Were I to kill him — 
Bah ! his sorrow and all would be at an end. 
But to make him live and deprived 
Of her whom he values more than life — 
Ah I that's the vengeance I will take. He'll drag 
Out his cursed life in unfulfilled 
Desires and longings ever unsatisfied. 
So you see the money is not the prime 
Cause, for which I now am striving. 
Mou. But for me, it is the prime cause 
For which I strive and which I'll not be foiled in. 
Robe. To cheat you is furthest from my thoughts 
And to prove it here is a check (7i'riti>ig) for four hun- 
dred francs. 
Mou. (j'\eading) Is this worth four hundred francs ? 

Robe. Certainly it is 

Mou. Then please change it for me and give its 

Robe. I [worth. 

Mou. (Coiiiinandiiig/y.) Change it 

Robe. If you would rather have it in change 
Why here it is ; no difference to me. 
[Mouchct taking it.) 
Mou. Ah ! le creme de le creme, and it too 
Is a gentle rain, that falls upon 
My fertile mind, which will soon bear 
Luscious fruit, in shape of ready plans. 
Robe. It pleases me to find you're such a fruitful 
Garden ; now you know how you will fare 
If you succeed. 

Mou. That I do, and for that reason I'll 
Make haste to carry out my scheme. For 'tis vice 
That speeds me to my madame in a trice. Exit. 

Robe. I hardly know to rate him ; bull or bear, 
Will \ paio him, or he liorn me in air? 
At any rate there's nothing I'll not dare. Exit. 



SCENE V. 

Room of Mouchet's house — very poor. 
Marie at work, cleaning the room. 



Marie. Dark midnight with his giant strides is fast 

Now coming on ; but still Therese appears not, 

Ah me ! Has some accident occured. 

Or has again a mean assault been made 

By drunken loafers on thy fragile form? 

Oh, what anguish I have suffered since 

The squandering of that marriage gift, by my 

Indolent husband ; and since you were hustled 

Into the streets of Paris, 

Violin in hand to seek a livlihood, 

For your stony hearted parent ; while he 

Wastes his time about the club and in 

The low grog shops, spending our hard earned sons — 

{A knock at the door) 
A visitor! what does one wish at so — 
Does he bring news of Therese, or her bleeding body? 
God forbid — come in — 

{Enter Landlord with a bow; a slim shabbily dressed old 
man, his form bent and vioce cracked) 
Lan. Madame, I beg your pardon for having dropped 
In at this time ; but I saw you had your 
Lamp still burning — as I was passing here, 
And so I thought I would step in to see 
Monsieur about some private business. 
M.A.R. Take a seat, please, I expect he will 
Be here after a while. [Eyeing him sharply) 
[He sits down writing in a note hook, about the furni- 
ture, etc. 

Mar. (Aside) Come, a new difficulty which I 
Have not foreseen. But who can this — 

( Turning around she sees him making notes) 
What ! yes, oh heaven ! that is the landlord, 
He's taking an account of what we have. 
Ah ! I see Henri expected this man 
To come and for that reason told me, he would 
Not be at home for any one to night. 
I'll carry out his wishes for him. 
How can I fix it? Yes, I'll do this ! — 
When Therese comes home I'll send her — 
'Twill take only a few minutes, round to 
The club and — [Enter Therese violin in hand) 
Ah Therese, why stayed you so late ? 
Ther. a good lady sent me on an errand 
And it took me thus long to get back. 
Look! She gave me this money for if Landlord runs 
to look at it. 

Mar. She was indeed a good lady. 
But my dear if you are not too fatigued. 
Go, please, to the club and tell papa 
A gentleman's here to see him, go quickly 
For 'tis late. [Exit Therese) 

Mar. [Aside) My child, you are indeed worthy a 
Lot than this. — [better 

Now I shall fix it for him. When she returns 
And states: he had been gone two hours from there, 
Then he'll not wait here any longer. 
Ha ! Ha ! he little thinks my husband sleeps 
Not ten feet from where he's sitting. I'm glad 
He is now in a drunken stupor, for 
Else there'd be something I'd not like to see. 
But I fear he might awake, no, no, 
I cannot risk it. 'Tis time to end the farce. 

To the Landlord angrily. 
Sir ! at what time do you retire ? 
Lan. Ah ! I — I guess as soon as I get rich, 
Which looks like it would never be, because 
People never pay the rent due me. 
Mar. Oh, — you old fool. I meant what time do you 
Gather together your withered carcass 



On a bed sheet, if you have one? 

Lax. Oh, — Ah, — Well madame, I have no, ahem — 
Particular time, madame. 

Mar. "Well did you ever hear that after twelve 
All honest men were in their beds asleep ? 
No\\' I know you to be an honest man. 
Why are you not there instead of collecting rents? 
Landlord lohistliitg, Marie counting. 

Phew-vr-w-w-w-w I Together. 

One-two-three-iour ) 

Mar. Beautiful tune, keep good time ; 
If you have finished answer my question. 
Lan. A-a-a-a-why are you not in bed 
If all men are now in bed ? 
Mar. Because I am a woman. 

Going lip to hi 1)1. 
Have you not taken the little hint? 
If not, T tell you plainly that you must 
Immediately leave the house. 

Lan. Oh ! never mind. I'll wait a few minutes 
Yet do you wish me to leave? If so, all right, [longer. 
But indeed, I should not wish that you 
Be here alone. Is these any one else in the house? 
M.ar. {Savagely.) Thank you, I'm accustomed to being 

here alone. 

Lax. {C//nnii!gh\) You've alone are you! but what'.s 

that snoring 
That I hear in there ? Ah no, you dont 
Cheat me \ your husband is in there and Fin 
Going in to see him. 

{Marie rushes to the door xvhere she stands as a harrier.) 
Mar. You'll not go in there while I'm alive. 
I won't heh ! out of my way. 

He pulls her a7oay by the wrist and she struggles bravely 
zvith him. 

Mar. Henri ! Henri ! 

Mouchet comes out sleepy and stiipejicd saying as he sur- 
veys thevi wrestling together: 
Mou. What in the devil is the matter here? 
{Aside) I'll help her, then she'll tell me all that 
I might want to know about the girl. 
{Aloud.) Here, you brute {knocking him doion) take that. 

Marie drops into a chair. 
Mou. {Aside) Now is the time for me, {then tenderly.) 
Did the ruflian hurt you? 

Mar. Not much, I am weak mostly from fright. 
Mou. Is he a robber? What could he e.xpect here? 
Mar. I do not know ; but look at him. 
Mou. It's the landlord, by Jove. 
It serves the rascal right. Uid he come 
For the rent Marie? 

Mar. He wished to go into your room ; but I 
Would not let him. 

Mou. You showed your courage well. 
Lan. {Looking about) WMiere am I? Yec, I remember, 
{Rising) Monsieur, I have come to collect the rent 
Due me for the use of this house, you know. 
Mou. Yes, I guess I do know that I can have 
You imprisoned for being here so late. 
But I will teach to you a memorable 
Lesson about collecting rents at midnight. 
Which are but due the following day. 
Could you get up if you would fall down ? 
Lax. Yes, Monsieur, but I want my rent. 

Mouchet throws him out. 
Mou. Ah, you do, do you? Then wait out there 
Until you get it. {He shuts the door) 
Mar. Oh why have you done this? He will have 
You arrested immediately for it. 



Mou. Ha ! Ha ! never fear; when he hears what 
It costs to have me arraignefl he will 
Go home and count his gold. 
The rent i# only due to-morrow and this 
Old, greedy miser has been here already 
Fearing lest we move and he be robbed 
Of his paltry francs. 

Mar. {Again ivorking) And how shall we pay the rent' 
Mou. With money, dear, with money. 
Mar. But where to get the money ? 
Mou. I guess he can wait a week, he's not 
In need of money now I know. But 
Why still laboring at this hour? 
Mar. You know I do it not for love of toil. 
Mou. A menial do you wish to aid you then 
In the performance of your household duties? 
Mar. {Scornfully) A menial I as if you had the wealth 

[of France. 
But if you were an honest man, — Oh \\ould 
That former years were here — you would 
Abandon hellish politics and toil 
As a sworn protector of a woman 
Only would ; instead of necessitating 
Your only child of tender age to roam 
Throughout the streets. She's exposed to insults 
From the burly ruffians lurking round, 
Playing, to beg your existence in this 
Manner; and your poor wife must haste her work 
And far from having menial help to aid her. 
Must needs herself hire out her wasted form. 
Mou. Marie, rejoice, next week will yield a change. 
If I succeed in the transaction of 
Some business, a thousand francs 
Will fill our now dusty-bottomed coffers. 
Then will there be no need to hire yourself 
Nor will our dear Therese need to beg. 
With my permission, order what you will ; 
New and better clothing for yourself and 
Child and do not neglect by any means 
To purchase several suits of furniture 
And all such little articles as you 
And Therese may deem necessary for 
']"he beautifying of a cozy home. 
Which I intend to buy as soon as chance 
Shall lead me to it. 

(Picks up a paper and glances over it) 

Mar. {Aside) Ah, if this be true, indeed 'tis more 

Than I might have expected from this source. 

But — bah ! do all this with a sum so scant ! 

A house ! it would not buy this tumbled shanty 

A few years since it were possible. 

Nay even probable that such could be. 

When mid culture and society 

We had nought else to think of. 

God ! But to think of it makes me 
Almost wish myself dead. To compare 
Our present state, so pitiable in woe. 
And drunkenness and poverty, with what 
We were ten years ago, I am nigh torn 
With anguish. {Moucliet looking up) 

Mou. Ha ! ha ! that's pretty good Marie ; but what 

1 pray are you rehearsing for ; that was 
Well done. {Relapses to his reading) 
Mar. Ah me ! his condition is as usual 
Let me recall vv'hat other nonesense he did 

Tell ine, 'Tis pleasing to think of it though vain. 

Do not neglect by any means, he said 

To purchase several suits of furniture. 

Alone would these consume, barring other 

Things, his extravagant donation. 

This convinces me that he is drunk. 

And therefore must I humour him to keep 

His angry passion from 

Mou. {Laying down the paper) So I read 



{Tlirowing the paper into the fire) Dessignier's house. 

Is to he sold in a short space of time. 

How does it strike you as our future home? 

Are the gardens cultivated, the vineries trimmed? 

Are there spacious halls and vestil^ule? 

Tell me something of it, that I may judge 

Whether it will yield the delights that I 

Intend for you. 

Mar. (Surprised.) Indeed, I was not aware of their 

Well, its a pretty little house of eight [intention. 

Sunny rooms. Four on a level ; a broad passage 

Extends from front to rear facing two 

Each side. To the dormitory window spreading. 

Climbs the stout and verdant mistletoe. 

And so dense, man's weight it might support. 

Mou. {Aside.) K\\\\\i gooA, — It's working. {Aloud.) 

Hut do they think it safe to keep their money there? 

Mar. Well I — O! villain! rascal! is this the source 

You think to fill your iiptu dusty [from which 

Coffers ? O God ! that I 

Mou. {.'Ingrily.) Hush, woman, some one might hear 

Mar. I will not bo silent, 1 will [you. 

Mou. You sliall fool, or I'll 

He knocks her doiou loifh something. Shoving her inse/i- 

sible body with his foot he staggers out. 

{Enter Therese.) 

Ther. Mamma, 1 went to the club and they — 

Seeing mother on the flooi\ she rushes to her, and crouches 

do 70 J!. 

Mamma ! Mamma ! 



ACT II. 

SCENE I . 
Scene, same as Scene I. Act I. 



Pier. {Earnestly and some-iohat excitedly) 

Ever since, under kind fate's guidance, 

This note, I have discovered, at once the charge 

And proof conclusive of foulest perfidy 

Premeditated, have I struggled madly 

Not to give credence to this obvious truth ; 

But now those old feelings are o'erpowered. 

{Aroused) 
Let act succeed on dilatory thought 

( dlioroughly aroused.) 
And quick, else deception artfully 
Veneered with truthfulness and holy love 
May find success in its fell purposes. 
And dear Francisque — no more delay — 
I'll act to-night — at once — to Chesin's house 
I'll go and demand an explanation — 
But Franciscjue must know naught until — 
IVItile intending to leave the room there enters Francisque 

loith Louis' servant. 
Fran. Ah Pierre, I thought I might find you here. 

Servant begins to S(arch the room. 

But you are flushed 

Pier. With surprise at his impertinence ; 

But who is he, our visitor so curious? 

Is there aught ailing him, is he deranged ? 

(Ser-ciant eyeing Pierre a tnoment) 
Serv. Nothing ails me ; and yet I do recall thnt, 
For as the loss of glowing spirits ails one ; 
So the loss of an unbrella, me ; 
Or my master, which is all the same, 



In other words, I announce to you 
The decease, sudden and unlooked for, 
Of an unbrella, stone dead to its master ; 
P>ut which I believe is alive and healthy, 
Here, in this abode, and its ribs 
As visible and strong as my old horse's. 
It's here, why did'nt you return it to him? 
Pier. Is he sane ? 

Ser. Here am I a painter and a painter's boy com- 
])elled to seek after such things alive or dead, as stray 
from my master's studio like sheep without a shep- 
herd or rather blindly lead away by wolves in sheep's 
clothing. 

Pier. {Angrily) This impudence and familiarity, is 
monstrous, shocking, Scamp, out of the house ! 

{Servant terrified rtins out) 
Fran. Pierre, Pierre, you've been too harsh with him 
But it is my fault, I should have told you. 
Don't you recall Old Curiosity — 
America's? This is his youthful picture. 

Servant enters unobserved and renews his search. 
Pier. To endnre such conduct is beyond me. 
And from a mere servant, why Francisque ! 
Fran. Well well, time effects everything 
And Pierre, I wish to drive away that frown 
To which nothing is more efticacious 
Than this rare mignonette, so beautiful. 
She takes him smiling to opposite part of the room, where 

stands the flozver in a vase. 
Ser. {Aside) They hid it, as I'm to be a Raphael 
And only to give me trouble bless them. 

Do they wish to keep it ? ■ 

He sees flowers in a vase near him. 
Flowers, I wonder if they intend them for me but I 
want the unbrella, I don't w^ant the flowers. 
Throwing them they hit Pierre on the head, Pierre seiz- 
ing him by the collar shakes him. 
Pier. Here, fool, what do you mean ! 
Fran. {Inteifering) Pierre do nothing rash ; but 
Remember this is his august self the painter. 
The youtliful image of your New World's friend. 
Ser. Aye, you have guessed rightly, I am his majesty. 
But where have you heard of me before ? 
Has my fame preceded me ere I have won it? 
I presume you are the one who went 
To fight across the way, o'er the ocean. 
So you've heard of me there : in what connection 
If I may ask, not yet as a painter? 
Pier. I met a relation of yours over there, 
A father I should think. 

Ser. Ah no he won't. He claims no such thing 
If I know it. My father's dead and now ' 
When I'm about to be the living artist 
Of the world and win unbounded fame 
And show the world the mettle I am made of — 
Pier. I plainly see the metal you are made of. 
Your cheek is brass, your brain is surely leaden. 
Fran. Keep on Pierre, you'll soon transform him to 
A saturnine race horse or a metallic mummy. 
Pier. Could I by any means fulfill the last 
I should forever have the world's applause. 
For the lists of death would be decreased. 
Ser. Therefore you think you saw my father there? 
Ah no you didn't.. He surely is some old 
Deceiver, one who wished to be supported ; 
But not by me. When I've celebrity 
No imposter shall find his way beneath 
My wing. O yes, I'll win fame ; 

The earth shall sing my praises ; you know not where 
My life will end. 
Pier. I do, in faith, from what I heard about you 



I'm sure I know. 

Ser. Where, O where, I will let you share 

My glory. 

Pier. If in this tenor you continue and in 

Truth have talent for a painter. 

And exercise your talent properly, 

Your life will end at death, 

Ser. Why that's the place where only kings 
And artists meet ; then can I not see you there ? 
'Tis pity, but I must go. {Going to the ooor.) 
Pier. Wait, will you not give to me that name. 
That name that shall so shine in the artists' 
Firmament and be upon the heavens 
Inscribed in golden characters. 
Fran. What avail to know that name at once? 
Wait till it ranks with Vandyke or excells him. 
Ser. But /will let you know, 'tis Maurice Juile, 

My master, M. Louis Chesin, I go 

Having passed out lie imviediatelv 'rturns 7vith ti^'o 

Hinbrellas. 
Ser. Ah, ha ! At last I've found it, good bye. 
Pier. But those two unbrellas, one is yours. 
Here, I'll pick it out for you. 
Ser. Ah no ! how can he tell which is his own 
If he have them not both before him ? 
So I'll bring him both. 
Pier. Well, did you ever hear the like? 
You're a smart one and in return for these 
Umbrellas may we ask from you a song? 
Ser. Certainly you may ; but now I'm 
Very busy and hardly have time to gratify you. 
Pier. Ah ha ! are you quite sure you have no cold ? 
Ser. Yes indeed ; mademoiselle, have you ever 
Seen me with a cold ? 

Fran. Heaven could not be so cruel ; but 
Where did you cultivate your vocal powers ! 
Ser. Like my painting talents they are innate 
Within me. But {in a pitving tone to Pierre)^ can you 

[sing? 
Pier. I am renowned for that both far and wide. 
I sing the gentle zephyred waves to slumber. 
But if you have no cold and can parley 
Here so long, we are waiting for your song. 
Ser. Yes, that's right ; keep waiting for my song. 
Pier. Sister, I am very anxious to hear from you. 
Do not derogate your powers ; but give 
Me a lightsome, thrilling, gladdening tune. 
Fran. That I will, my brother, listen Maurice. 

SONG. 
It was on a summer eve. 

Twilight had donned its robe. 
The stmgsters had begun to weave 

Their songs for sad Nio'be. 
Their queen the nightingale was there, 

A question to propose. 
This question to propose: 

Who can with me in song compare. 
No matter what you've chose. 

They all agreed. The woods full soon 
Began again to ring. 

And then this new and novel tune 
The nightingale does sing : 

( Tlie Servant rushes out.) 

"I am the queen 
Have always been 

La — la — li — lo — la — 
The glistening, glittering glances 

Of the pearly dew drops at me. 
Keep pace with their fairy dances 



At my entrancing melody." 
The sparrow next 

With panting breast so sings : 
"Sod is my help, my help he is." 

Then quick the whip-poor-will broke in. 
In plaintive cadence to begin : 
, Whip-poor-will, whip-poor-will 
If he be guiltv of ill 

And— - 

The voice of an abductor in the garden imitating that of 
the mother cries: 

Pierre ! 
Fran. (Starts) Pierre, mother is calling you from the 
garden run out and — {Exit Pierre.] 

(Going to the door that leads inward she says:) 
That's quite strange, mother in the — ■ — 
iVeai'ing the door, two tnen seize her and take her out, in a 
moment P'erre returns and says: 
!''rancisque, mother is not — what, gone 

In the dining room {Follows out of the same door.) 

.IMuetors are tlien seen in the part of the garden near 
the 'windo7^' with Francisque in their arms. She cries: 
Mother ! Pier {F.veunt.) 



SCENE II. 

Studio of Louis Chesin. His servant meddling with 
unfinished painting of Francisque. 



Ser. Now who is-that lady going to be? 

Indeed, it is true the monsieur did it ; 

But still I see it yet does lack expression. 

Why ! did I not see that person but short 

Time ago? here ! great judge, when ? 

Before breakfast, no, before dinner, no, 

Ah yes, after supper, I see ; her name 

Mademoiselle Dessigniers, why in the name 

Of all artists did I not see her first 

Before my supper and as I'm a Vandyke, 

If he did not paint her from his heart. 

Took straight her likeness from his memory. 

And set it there on canvas! I wonder if her 

Likeness for him is the same as his 

For her. Well judge, you cannot help it now. 

But my demoiselle, vous etes tres belle 

Comme (knocking at tlw door) say is anybody there? 

Now I know I'm getting to be a painter 

Like Monsieur Chesin, I feel the frenzy 

Now creep over me as if I knew the art. 

Why didn't I think I heard a knocking ? — 

Now a picture like that is very easy 

For him to write down, because, you see, 

He has painted it already and is 

Only copying it — from his memory. 

Why, I almost think that I could do it. 

Now, if I was to put the touch to that, {mi.ving paints) 

And tone it up fine {taking up the hrnsh) 

Monsieur would pat me with his fingers, so. 

And praise me for my skill in these arts, 

And ^call me a genius ; yet, I don't kuow 

Whether he is anxious for me to touch 

This lady, but that's not worth a whiff of wind, 

So I'll try it {Taking up the brush.) {Knocking.) 

Oh ! {Running to an arm chair he takes up a paper. 

Again impatient knocking, then Enter Afarie. 
Ser. (Getting up.) Pardonnez moi. I was so busy 
I couldn't hear you knocking. — Come to get your 
likeness painted ; you'll make a fine one-bust 



13 



Bust like Venus and form like Juno, — 

Mar. Is your master in ? 

Ser. (Rejifctitig.) Wait, let me consider — 

Yes, I believe he is. Will you retain 

Those clothes or do you want flounced draperies? 

Mar. You will go and tell him I want to see him. 

Ser. Certainly, what name ? Marie 

Mar. What, fellow, do you 

Ser. I say is it Marie Antoinette 

Mar. Will you {Louis enUrs.) 

(Servant as if he intended to go foj- kitn) 
Ser. Ah, monsieur, a lady to see you. (Exit.) 
Lou. Well, my good woman, what can I do for you? 

Mar. Oh sir, I— I 

Lou. You are nervous, madame take a little 

Water. (Goes /or the same.) 

Mar. (Aside.) My husband — no, I'll not implicate — 

(To Louis) I have some intelligence to give 

That pains me sorely ; but which must be known. 

Lou. Then, I pray you, tell it not to me. 

Mar. I — you know Francisque Dessigniers — 

Lou. Yes, yes, what of her 

M.^R. Last night she was abducted 

Lou. What ! 

Mar. Abducted, 

Lou. Abducted ! 

Mar. Aye and I came here to tell to you 

Where she is held. 

Lou. Tell me first who the wretches are. 

I would 

Mar. I say 'tis not hard to rescue her. 
When I tell you how you may. 

Lou. Quick! what of the villains that 

Mar. The villains laid much upon the distance off. 
Her guard, a half witted fool, half armed. 
You know the Bois de Boulogne. 

Lou. Yes, yes, what of it, 

Mar. Wait or you'll s]-.oil all. It behooves you not 

[to go at once. 

Lou. I must, I will, my good woman, tell me 

Mar. For her safety do I restrain you. Persist 

And you full sure prevent her liberation. 

Lou. God be thanked that I now have the power 

To rescue her at all, through you ; my friend 

Tell me how you came to inform me. 

You have a good heart ; God bless you for it. 

M.\R. I'm blessed in being able to assist her. 

In being an instrument in the rescue. 

Of one of those who saved my only child. 

Know that she and her folks did protect 

My Therese when she upon the streets was 

Struck by cowardly drunkards and though 

I would have helped her, through humane reasons 

Yet their act, so bonded me to them, [solely ; 

That in gratitude I would die most 

Willingly were such act conducive 

To her safety. It is not well for you 

To go at present, you must wait awhile. 

Lou. I thank you from my heart that you come to 

Me and apprise me of her danger. 

You say on the Bois de Boulogne — 

Mar. Yes, take it half its length from Couvrille's 

Then to the right at a distance you will 

See a hut. A booby lives in there. 

Ask him for the next house on the road. 

He will lead you to your place. 

She turns thinking she heard a sound, then the door 
opens and Servant enters hurriedly. 



Ser. Did you call me. Monsieur? 

Lou. Call you, no, neither anyone else ; 

When I want you, I'll tap the bell. 

That will do. But wait — , 

As long as you are here tell me who were 

At home last night at M. Dessigniers,' 

Was not the Madame in ? 

Ser. Yes, they were all there and a right jolly time 

They all had too, myself included. 

We sang and joked and 

Lou. Did you — well — that is all. (Exit Servant.) 

You see they were all together. The rascals 

Must, have been cute indeed, to so decoy 

Her away from them. 

Mar. Yes and to get her just as slyly. 

You have but to follow my directions 

And in a short time she is yours again; 

But pray tell me who that fellow is 

Who hears his name when he is not called' 

Lou. Indeed he is an eccentric person 

And were it not for his redeeming trait 

I could not tolerate him. 

He is an apt workman. 

My dear friend tell me how may I thank you i 

Mar. That I will. Monsieur, give ear. 

Let no one know in any way whatever 

From you, how you received your information. 

Keep this well in mind ; else know that she 

Who saved for you your own, will be murdered. 

That is all — adieu. (Exit.) 

Lou. What can she mean? 

Well poor woman, I'll endeavor to aid 

Against any evil that might befall you; 

It is the mother of that little girl 

Beaten by those drunkards. Pierre told me 

That her husband was of ill repute. 

She said not yet to go, (Looking at his wateh.) 

But I cannot wait much longer. 

Ah ! I see it ; for some reason of his own 

The dog took her away ; no doubt obtaining 

All knowledge from his unsuspecting wife. 

(He taps the bell.) 

(Enter Ser^'ant.) 
Here Maurice, haste to M. Dessigniers' 
And tell him to hurry here and — but no — 
It is not necessary — I'll go myself. 
That will do — (Exit Maurice) 

I'll rescue her (Looking at his 7mtch) 

May God bless the poor woman, who has 
Perilled her life to save my dear Francisque, 
For gratitude because of her Therese, 
If that demon of a husband touch her 
He shall rue it sorely. 

And now Francisque, 'twill not be long before 
I see you. Thank the Almighty Father. 
Exit hurriedly. 



SCENE III. 
Scene same as Scene II. Act II. 



Ser. I wonder what he meant by running off 

In such mad haste ; he ran oft as if 

A hundred creditors pursued, who if they 

Should chance to catch him would eat him without 



No, all my conjecturing is vain, 
I may with reason doubt whether he is 
Searching for his head — as by his actions 
'Tis evident that he has lost his head, 
Or for a lost comet. 



seasoning. 



14 



And allowing that he finds that and his head 

Is in good order found and without damage, 

When he comes home brings he his tail behind him. 

That's the momentous question, and if he does, 

When he does tell his tale, the tale will so 

Tell on me, even as did the tale of William Tell. 

But telling the truth of my opinions, I do 

Not believe that he's running that comet 

Nor its head, nor its tail nor anything 

Appertaining to that comet at all ; 

But he's made a mistake in that picture 

Which he would rectify not with a comet 

But by means of his beautiful Francisque. 

If he had asked me 

(Knocking at tlie door.) 
Ser. Stay out or come in, 

I dont care a pin. 
Enter Pierre. 
Pier. Quick, vvhere is your master? where is I.ouis? 
Ser. Now, wait a minute, not so fast. Do you 
Want louis, we have not got them— only francs. 
Do you think we are gold mines? 
Pier. 
Ser. 
Pier. 
Ser. 
Pier,. 
Ser. 
Pier. 
Ser. 
Pier. 



leant Louis Chesin ; but how should you 
By your telling me, Monsieur. [know. 

{.4no-ri/j'.) How can I know where your master 

[is? 



By my telling you. Monsieur. 
Well — be quick about it — hurry. 

lie is not here. 
Vou fool, I see that, but where is he? 

He is — away from here. 
iConciliatingly) What did he say? 
Maurice, you should tell me. 

Ser. Ah ! thats the kind of question to be answered. 
He told me to tell you — nothing at all. 

Pier. Good heavens ! it is indeed so 

He told you to tell me nothing of it. 

He felt— he knew— that I was coming. 

Ser. Yes, he — he-he, why man ! what are you 

Talking about? he told me to go to you — 

Woukrhe have said that if he felt, if 

He knew you were coming here — 

And tell you 

Pier. [Catching him) Tell me, tell me what ? quick — 
Ser. Tell you nothing', for he called me back — 
Pier. {A\'/easing him.) What do you mean, what do 

[wish to say ? 
If you know anything for heaven sake 
Out with it. You know what he has done? 
He has taken off Francisque. 
Ser. Pla! ha, that's a dodge for an elephant. 
Not me the painter. I swear it's false. 
For I saw him run off alone. 
Pier. You did ! what direction did he take? 

How long ago and why 

Ser. Don't be too fast, please, I can't think that way. 

Take it coolly and I'll tell to you the whole affair, 

A little while ago, there was a woman 

Here, with Monsieur she held a conference 

Then she left looking quite sad indeed, 

In a few minutes he called me to him 

Where I found him pacing up and down 

And shot this out at me ; 

Here Maurice ! make haste to M. Dessigniers 

And tell him to hurry here and — but no 

It is not necessary, I'll go alone {mocking) that will do 

And so I was excused not only from his 

Room, but from going to you and now 

If you have sense left, which does not appear. 

Consider whether he run off with her or not. 

It is the height of absurdity to think 

As you have done. 



Pier. The woman was the cause of this. 

What news was there, could stir to such a pitch. 

As to make him speed headlong out ? 

God be tl^nked it's not what I have thought. — 

And not have time to wait for me 

To come, for it is evident he wanted me, 

My frjend did the two confer for any 

Length of time ? 

Ser. Not more than fifteen minutes, ten of which 

It took her to begin ; this I know 

For he brought water to her which does mean 

That she was faint, which argues she had hard time. 

And trouble to commence, whate'er she said. 

But did you say your sister had gone off? 

Ah, in faith, 1 can solve the problem. 

Pier. You ! well what have you to say? 

Ser. If she is gone tnat woman sure knows where, 

For she looks to me a broomstick witch. 

By that same poorer of divination, she knows 

My master would. fain have her for wife 

And so she tells to him, where he can find her. 

To make his certain suit much surer yet. 

Ah ! it takes me to see this thing. 

Pier. ( 7'hinking.) That's very possible,^ but why do 

You think this ? 

Sek. My friend, seek not to become wiser, for 

Though fools may of wise men learn, yet learn 

Not too much ; practise temperance at all hours. 

Pier. You conceated fool. I'll — 

How can I break this news to mother ? 

I'll remain here a little longer. 

He may by that time return, I hope he may. 

Ser. I too, for I've something very important to 

Marie enters breatldessly. 

Mar. Has he gone yet — if not — tell him — to 

Pier. How ! madame, is that you ! 

Ser. He went immediately after you, ha, ha. 

After you ! I meant after the Demoiselle Dessigniers. 

Mar. God be praised that he is gone in time — 

What do you know about Miss Dessigniers? 

Pier. My good madame, will you not tell me why 

You sent him away and where? Francisque 

Is nowhere to be found and suspicion 

Very grave, I had harboured of him. 

Mar. Dear sir, cast all such unworthy thoughts from 

He is pure and chivalrous and she, [yo"- 

The rival of the whitest, purest lily. 

By chance I heard who her abductors were, 

Vile wretches, who for a bar of gold did do it. 

Pier. But why did you not inform me of it, 

Although I bless you as it is. 

Mar. Because the lover's joyful task it is 

To bring deliverance to his lady love 

To win the prize, no matter from what quarter, 

As his love for her were still unshaken. 

Were the solid globe to fall upon it. 

Fear not, he'll rescue her as sure as earth 

Does move about the glorious magnet orb. 

Pier. But I must go too, tell me the way. 

Mar. No it were even now too late to say it. 

Did I wish. From the house where she 

Is held her Louis will liberate her. 

Pier. God help him in it. If you will not tell me 

I'll for home, {Aside} to comfort mother. 

Thank God my suspicions, are unjust. 

Now do I feel his heart's nobility. 

Which heaven forbid that I should ever doubt 

Again. What heinous crime has Ijeen concocted 

To embroil the one, and destroy the other, 

Mf-y heaven frustrate, and hurl back on its author, 

Adieu. {Exit Pierre.) 



15 



Ser. That was quite good in you I must admit. 

You had something important to tell to him 

As I perceived by your breathless haste. 

What do you wish to do about it? 

M.\R. You may tell him — but never mind 

Don't trouble yourself too much, or you'll get warm. 

Exit. 
Skr. Well — now — (Talking to the picfure) 
Did any one ever see the like of this? 
She run off! he must be crazy. Francisque 
The angel run away even with Louis — 
Very foolish of him. But what are these 
Happenings, my head is in a whirl. 
The first time it has ever been so, 
May it safely issue from her eddies. 
The demoiselle to be abducted ! — The cur 
That did it should have his tale cut off. 
The whole al'fair seems like a drama and I 
An actor in it, than real life's proceeding. 
Abducted — The lover with risk rescues her, 
And urged to do so by an old witch ; 
The brother of the girl a goblin too. 
And then they all live happily, hurrah ! 
I reckon I'll live happy too, so 

{Looking at painting^ 
Don't talk too loud or yoic will disturb me. 



ACT III. 

SCENE I . 

Scene a road running from the Bois de Boulogne. 

A bridge at the further end of the stage. 



Loi'. It is the house, mcthinks. I shall knock. 

Peasant. [IVithiii.) Hey there, stop it. Don't you 

[know I'm a sick man. 
Lou. Haste! open your door, I need your help 
Pe.'YS. Do you? But it's time all honest folks 
Were now in bed, and as, the world knows me 
For an honest man, you'll find me there. 
I'm very sick. Please pass on. 

Lou. My good fellow, let me persuade you quickly 
To come out and aid me in a sacred work, [long. 

That pays you more than you have seen a fortnight 
Peas. O yes ! my thief, I'll come and help you find 
The little that I have. No sir, not so 
Long as I'm a sick man, no sir. 
Lou. How can I draw him from his hut ? 
He thinks I'm a robber; fool, but gold. 
Gold will remove that obstacle. 

[Rattling go/d coins in //is /lands.) 

Do you hear that — do you ? 
If you will hasten and join me, much gold — 
Look — listen (jingles) do you hear? all of this 
Shall be your pay, quick — open the door. 
Peas. Eh ! wait, I'm coming down to you. 

(Peasant comes toith a pistol.) 
Is your gold hard and will you give me much? 

Louis gives hivi hand full. 
Take that and if you serve me as I wish 
More gold shall you receive. 

Peasant takes the money in his hut. 
And now promptly show the road to me 
Which leads to your nearest neighbor's hut. 
[Peasant speaking quickly and pointing) 



Go up here, down there, round the 

Lou. Hold fellow 

Begin again and more explicit be. 

Peas. Well then, straight up this road you go d'ye 

Till you fall against a fence, d'ye see? [see? 

And then the road to the left you take, follow 

This road up to a muddy river, d'ye see? 

Well on the bank of this river sits your 

Shanty ; a dirty old place she is, you see? 

D'ye see now, really ? 

Glances at his hut. 
Lou. Yes — I fear some one may come this way 
And if you diligently keep a watch. 
Your now rich pay shall still be doubled. Accept? 

Peasant extends his hand. 
Then stand here and if you see one approach 
Sound this larum once and I return. 
But listen ; you'll be very careful to do 
Only what I have said. If they present 
To you some money, you would reject it 
Would you not? (Peasant gruffly.) 

Peas. No, guess I wou'n't; I'd chuck it in 
His head, I'm no traitor for your cause. 
Lou. Thai's right, my Cicero, you don't reject it. 
But you chuck it in his head, now don't forget ! 

Exit. 
Pe.'VS. Throw me all your money, if I forget. 
Now there's nothing mean about that fellow. 
He gave me more gold than I have saw. 
He is a gentleman I know ; but I 
Wonder what his case may be so late. 
Is he one of them — pshaw — no — 
What a fool I be — he don't look nothing 
Like them, for they stealed by, just like villains, 
And this one — I wonder if he would come back, 

He tries the luhistle. He waits. 
Pshaw, just as I expected, I'll never see [He goes to his 
hut.) [Coming l/ack.) 

Peas. Oh, I knew he was a gentleman. 
For look at all that shining gold he gave. 
But he don't know as much as I about them. 
For if he did, he would have left the purse 
With me. I know them fellers there are robbers ; 
Because they sleep in the day time like that 
Old o\\'\ I used to have, who stole at night 
And slept all day, while honest men did work. 

Whist, methinks I heard people coming up 

It is good they passed not this way ; for they would 
have got a fearful fright ; I would have fought them 
like a cat and show their body to this rich fellow, 
who would have showed to me some gold, eh ! But 
what's he doing up at that house, no pretty gals I 
know, because there's nothing but an old hag there, 
and I know he dont want that pretty beast. But he 
better be more keerful with his money, if he gone into 
that house. [IValks up and down.) 

It Lightens. 
Oh ! — This will be an ugly night and if my friend 
you do not haste, a washing you will get, not much 
like that you get at home. 

IJghtning and Thunder. 
Whew ! — Can't stand this much longer, 
Not for all the gold he's got ; nor will 
He have much left, if he went to the place 
[Looks at the hut.) 

That I saw those rascals the other night 

Go to. Ah, it's a good thing they didn't see me. 

Ah ! I know a thing or two-oh ! [As it thunders)^ 

I can't stay here any longer [Going to the hut) 

But perhaps he has gotten into 

Trouble there. I warned him though and 'twould 



i6 



Take more money than he's got to tempt 
Me to that witch's hole. Why did he not 
Listen to me ; if he dont come hack 
I'll be cheated of more gold that he has. 
I wonder if mine be safe {Going in.) 
It's a big sum and somebody might have {coiiitig back.) 
No one \vill get at that ; not while I be 
Sick ; ah ! ha ! I'm a cute one. If I did not 
Say that, they would come in and rob me soon. 
Thunder and Lightning. 

Oh ! 1 see how I can make him come 

He cautioned me to whistle this, if I 
Should hear any one approaching ; now I 
Not only hear, but see some one approaching 
And mighty quick and if he takes not care 
'Twill reach him, as soon as nu'\ 
But he wanted me to warn him first, 
So I'll let him know it's coming on 
And from what direction {Pointing up.) 
{He 7^'histles then sees him coming.) 
Ah ! here he comes, with something in his arms, 
A woman as I live. {Lightning and thunder.) 

Enter Louis bearing Francisque. 
Lou. Go a little in advance— haste ! 
And prepare for reception of a guest. 

Peasant has crossed the bridge, wheii it is struck by 
li<x]itnin^. They, being in the middle, go down into the 
stl-eam and are separated. The peasant is throicn to the 
ground, partially stunned. 

Peas. Help, help. I'm killed ! whew ! {A'ising.) 

What an escape.— where are they? I, the 
Only one. Suppose they say I threw 
Them in to gel his money. 

My ! I must get him out, she hasn't got money. 
So I'll pull him out, he'// pay me for 
Saving him from death. He's stunned now. 

L/e pu//s Louis out. 
Here, there you are — I'll now soon revive him. 
Poor girl I it's a pity indeed and I don't 
See her neither. Any how it's no use 
Rescuing her. it's he that's got the money. 
He's the one {Drags him into the hut.) 

Robespierre comes from the same direction as Louis, and 
in his haste nearly fa//s into the streatn. 
Robe. Hell and furies!! this is the work of that 
Odious, hell-born fiend; he thought to escape 
Me thus ; but I shall seek from pole to pole. 
From East to West, from sea to sea, to force 
From his embrace, his beloved wench. 
Kick his accursed carcass and pour out 
On his infernal head cutting maledictions. 
Cursed be his soul and forever lost. 
That the black devil cheats me in this way ; 
The wood is dense before me, might as well 
Stone-blinded see the treasures 'nealh the earth. 
They may have gone here or by that way ; 
Zounds, if luck would only let me catch 
That hound.--ril pursue— quick— 

^LLe staggers at tite sight of her body, 'u</iich he c/ear/y 
sees from /lis position. 
Ha ! but what ! a body, is it hers ? 
Is it hers ! It is by heaven, it is. 

RusJies up the bank and comes out on other side. 
Is she dead ? {Pu//iug Iter out aud /ooking.) 
She is. Ha ! you perished 
As did your cursed sire ; by my hand. 
It was I that did stab him, ha ! ha ! 
And for his gold, did I -do it. Then were 
My plans to get the longed-for wealth frustrated 
Nevertheless, revenge was my reward. 
Now, again have I been foiled at my 
Attempt ; and again am I revenged. 



It now remains to deal with this Chesin. 
Shall I kill him, no! 'twould be a blessing 
On him not a curse; though then he would be 
Lost ; ye^ would I feel, the deed would move 
This dire and grievous sorrow from his heart. 
Ha ! ha ! where now is your dear Francisque? 
I'll l^t him live, to feel it: where. 
Francisque ; 'tis now almost as well as I 
Could wish ; your lover has you not ; but will 
Live forever, to deplore his cursed fate. 
'Tis true /have you not and thus not 
The riches coming with you but ha ! /le is 
Cheated of you, he — he, the dog. 
I am revenged now to my hearts content. 
I have drunk the sweeter wine ; and Chesin 
And the Dessiguiers, although affluent now, 
Are compelled to drink the bitter dregs. 
But why, the dog, her lover, did he run ? 
From fear of this, or my avenging hand ? 
The coward, I did not think before he was 
Of so currism a nature ; yet perhaps 
I wrong the fool, he may have been rescued. 

Going to tile hut. 
Oh, 'tis useless, that fellow to rescue to one? 
He's huddled among his clothes in some further 
Corner of that hole, crying for help. 
I guess he was washed away before I came. 
No matter, he's hardly worth a thought. 
Ha ! ha ! it lies with me to bury you. 

Thunder and Lightning. 
What would they say to that : Robespierre 
To consign their angel spirit to her 
Last resting place? and peacefully (Ironically) 
.Shall she rest where I — pshaw — 
This is the burial you receive. 

Pushes Jicr into the ivater. 



SCENE II. 
Same as Scene I. Act I. 



the devil 



Pier. No grievance could be greater, calamity 

No worse, than this. O Lord help us to bear 

Thy affliction and in pious thought 

Seek solace for thy heavy visitation. 

Hard it is to bear, indeed, and mother 

Bows beneath this sorrow as beneath 

A load too hard to bear. For nature does not 

Aid her; does not vouchsafe a tear 

To relieve somewhat the mourning of her heart 

Incapable of greater grief; 

And moisten the intenseness of her woe. 

But she sits brooding, silent, o'er her troubles 

With that stony stare, that rends my heart 

With inexpressible pity. 

But it is denied her. Ah, me ! I fear 

Evil consequences may arise 

Which might end in — no, no, the word 

Is too horrible for utterance ; 

Such thought too terrible for entertainment. 

God has taken Francisque 

For himself; may he spare us mother. 

O God ! who hast bereaved us of Francisque 

And who hast borne down this sad affliction 

On us, lighten now, I entreat thee. 

Father, lighten thou our griefs and pains. 

•Send consoling comfort to her, bowed down 

By care and anguish ; and in thy endless mercy 

Treat with us. 

Oh ! that I might ease her of her pain 

And alleviate her suffering — 

But here she comes. 



17 



1 must seek to rouse her from this 
State of deep despondency. 

Enter Mother. 
Pierre leads her to a ssat. 
Pier. Mother, we'll have a visitor to-night, 
He may come very soon. 
Moth. A visitor? 

Pier. Yes, can you not divine him, whom I mean ? 
Moth. Louis, but be will find her gone, gone. 
Oh, Francisque, Francisque, come back to us 
We cannot live without you ; our lives 
Are interwoven with your own ; Pierre ! 

Catching hold of him. 
Pier. Mother, take a little water. 
Moth. Ah ! that's better. 
Poor Louis, how he must suffer! 
To be snatched from death to be rescued 
To happiness and life and joy out of 
The pit dug by the rascal to destroy — only to die. 
But to die by God, not by man. 
'Tis good, I am resigned. I must hear 
Again, and from Louis' lips the sad tale ; 
It comforts my weary soul. 
Pier. God will send consolation. 
Mother, the poor fellow has been ill 
And acts strange things ; so forbear 
To question him more than the incident 
That you have alluded to, 'twill do 
No harm to ask him as far as that ; 
But much good and comfort, dear mother. 
Moth. Dear boy he is so worthy and so grand. 
In what spirit does he cede his treasure ? 
Pier. 'Tis come quickly to his heart. The man 
Did tell me, who did pull him out, that 
Though stunned and bleeding, he wildly searched the 
As if in quest of what, he knew not; [air. 

And it even moved that boor to pity, 
When in delirium he cried her name, 
And as an infant wept because she came not. 
So you can infer his mind from this. 
God help and comfort him. — Some one comes. 

Enter Louis accompanied hy servant. 
Ser. {to Pierre^ My master is not quite well, take 
Be not surprised at his behavior, [care 

Humour him in every thing. {Exit.) 

Pier. Well Louis, 

Old fellow, we are well pleased at your visit 
And I can not but congratulate you 
On your incomparable servant. 
I would fain ask, if his fingers ever 
Emulate the lightning of his tongue ? 
For then there were result to be admired. 
Lou. Indeed he fingers well and plays not. 
Pier. And so he works ? 
Lou. Aye, the stringless lute. 
Moth. Pierre, do not thus continue. 
Lou. No, no, or else you end. 
Pier. End ! End what ? 
Lou. The part that went before. 

Pier. True, true. 

And therefore we will not continue. 

Lou. Why then we end. And when we end, we stop. 

Stop speaking, moving, drinking, looking, all. 

And so 'tis done. For after the end, 

We breathe not, nor exist, nor are we. 

Therefore speak on,— have you yet heard Maurice 

My servant say, he will be a painter? 

What do you think ? He has a good form himself 

And not a bad subeject. 

Pier. {Aside) For an asylum. 



had he 
[here ? 



Lou. I do not know where he derives his whims. 

He is so eccentric and steeped way through 

His soul in proverbs, gotten by inspiration 

As thus ; "at what you look you see ;" or thus ; 

"Plant not your grain in the Arctic ocean, 

Or sow your seed in the winter's snow." 

Once he said : "wish and you shall have." 

He is of curious stock I dare tell. 

Moth. Nor can I make him out. What 

A compound of wit, impudence and vaunting 

He was composed of that even of last week 

When he was here. 

Lou. When he was here ! What business 

Pier. Do you not recall to memory 

The umbrella you sent him for; which 

You had forgotten here ? 

MoTH. The night that Francisque sang so sweetly 

[to us. 

Lou. {Rejlecting.) Francisque, Francisque — Who is 
Btir sting out laughing. [that ? 

Ha ! ha ! ha ! why are you hiding? 

Come Francisque let's go 

MoTH. God, God ! he's mad ! 

Lou. {to Pierre) Do not keep her any longer. Dear 

Francisque! 

Francisque {raising his voice) come Francisque! 

Pier. All right Louis; but now sit down. 

Lou. {Excited.) Francisque ! you give her to me, 

(Catching Pierre) 
Where have yoii hid her? 

Moth. {Crying.) Louis, Francisque is not here. 
Lou. What ! out of the house ! why don't 
You bring her in' Francisque I'm coming. 
I'll help you. {Pushes madly out.) 

Moth. O Lord ! help me now, I pray. Quick 

Pierre, follow him, that he do no harm. 

Pierre hurries out. 
Moth. What new calamity is this, Louis mad ! 
Poor boy, what an ending for them both. 
How different ! Oh ! how different from what I had 
Pictured for the future, Louis and Francisque 
The happy man and ^^•ife — and Pierre — my heart 
I feel as if 'twould burst. 

God ! where will this end if — I — feel faint. 
My heart — O me ! it cannot last longer. 

1 feel my end is drawing near, but Pierre, 
What may he — not do, God protect him 
From all evil. 

O Father, how did I merit this. Francisque 
My bird — dead ! my husband foully murdered ! 
Louis — raving mad ! and what may — further come, 
God — the prophecy — that witch — Pierre 

She falls DEAD. 

Pierre rushes in. 
Pier. Mother you are unwell {running up) Mother, 
Mother ! Speak ! My God ! She's dead. 



SCENE III. 
Scene, Louis' Studio. 



Louis mad, rushes in. 
Lou. No, no, she has concealed herself from me. 
They have not hidden her. She wishes only 
Me to find her, yes, indeed, I'll hunt 
The world over, if I find you not bofore, 
Pshew ! listen ! she directs the way — 
Speak a little louder Uvaring) louder, I cannot 



i8 



Distinguish what yon say, there'ls so rniich 
Other noise, Francisque, Francisque, are you gone? 
Why {stampiiig) did you drown her voice by your con- 
Noise, now I must seek her without aid, founded 
Without aid ! no, no, that old woman, 
Therese, my kind watcher, will help me. 
Here go — what ! where are you ? I cannot get it. 
It strikes in mv heart ; it cuts my brain; 
Hangs on my Tips; yet, I cannot remember it 
Here, here, you demon, give it quickly back 
Or I'll — 'tis good you cowards that you flee, 
They put it in my pocket, where can it be ? 

Fumbling in his pocket. 
To strike a defenceless girl like that; 
You should be hanged and your carcass (juartered; 
Quick, quick, do not tempt me thus! 
So ; and did they harm you much, my little 
Girl ! Come in the garden here and they 

Will see if you are badly hurt. Come, 

They will give you something nice look here. 
Searching in his Iwsoin. 

What she gave me {roaring out) devils, did you steal it? 

Did you? Do not touch it, with your viper's 
He finds a handkerchief in his hosoni. 

Hands, she gave it to me, Francisque. 

Ah ! it is charmed, you cannot take it. 

It is from her, you know, Francisque. 

I saw her make it with her own dear hands, 

And give it to me laughing cunningly 

Pierre, hurry up and bring her with you 

Yet I don't believe you will find her ; for I 

Know where she is but {reflecting) cannot think now. 

Heaven, what is it that wo'n't tell me? 

I — I — there (catching his head) I have — it's 

Fled again, (raaring) come quick ; all, 

Pierre, Jean, Maurice catch it, or 

Looking at the picture of Francisque. 
He paints and says softly. 

Francisque, dear Francisque, answer me now. 
Soothingly. 

Don't be angry. Oh ! you are her sister, 

Are you? And you want me to hunt for her. 

All right immediately I'll do it. 

Running aroutid. 

No I cannot see her — but don't give up. 

About to jump out of a high window. 
Did you speak to me? {Looking back at portrait. 

No ? I thought 

I heard ynu call, shall I call? Francisque, 
Sister wants you, she is asking for you. 
No, no, do not fear, no one will follow 
You, no one shall touch you ; one more bridge 
To cross aud then we see a little hut. 

Getting wild. 
There will be a tempest soon Francisque, 
See how it thunders and the lightnings flash. 
Ah, but there's the bridge, now, carefully. 
Hurry, my man, go front and lead the way. 

Clasping his head. 
My head, God ! my head, it cracks. 

Leaping forward. 
There she lies, so, {pointing to inuiginary stream) drag 
Quick, there, in the hole, pull ! pull ! [her out. 

Oh my darling ! my darling ! could I but lend 
My hand, I'd snatch you from that hole full soon. 

I cannot move — they hold me back — off 

They pinion my arms behind me, they — off 

You devils, I'll kill you all. {Shrieking.) 

Can you not see 

Her feet crushed there and bleeding between the logs? 
She extends her arms, she implores me. 



Leave off Satan, do ynu not hear her calling 
Me ? help ! help ! heaven save her. 

Pointing to the picture. 

You will talk to her, will you not? 
Go and help your sister {roaring) brutj ! 
(Si/ppl/catingly) My gentle friends, 
t entreat you let me off, wo'n't you? 
{Loud) Won't you. you hell hydra. 
{Exerting himself) Off 

7'he form of Francisque appears. 
Franxisque. Louis! {Softly.) 

He turns dumbfounded . 
Lou. Ah ! my angel ! (drops on his knees.) 

Looking at the Pictcre. 
No, no, be silent listen to her, to my Francisque. 
Do you hear? 

Francisque. 

When we parted by the w-ave, 

God sent forth this decree ; 

Francisque the maid for heaven save, 

While Louis for earth must be. 
Lot'. Oh, no ! God revoke it. Francisque, 
Francisque, (weeping) let me come to you 
Darling angel let 

FR.A.NCISQUE. 

So manfully upon the earth. 
Where is despair and w^oe. 
Strive on ; you'll reach the goal 
And up to me will wing your soul. 
When you own no man as your foe. 
Disappears. 

Lou. No, come back. Let me see you but once 

More, once Francisque, once — 

What a life here in this desert 

Without you my own ; no, it can not be. 

Almighty Father, oh let me die! 

The rich die and kings, why not I ? 

How I envy them, how I almost 

Hate them, yes, I must die, I curse them. 

Curse the World ; — You are without Francisque. 

What ! I have not Francisque. What am 

I doing here without Francisque 

Upon this wicked world. 

Oh this mud globe ! this ball of foulest things ! 

This mass of circles bound to jail you all 

Ye devilish, strutting serpents, breeding quiet 

In hidden secret your hydral venom to serve 

Each other with^rom slyly creeping in 

To hide your odious, reeking, sloppish clay. 

But on whose bosom you do prick a spot 

And cast you one another in, as grim parcels. 

Quick jugulate yourselves, false denizens. 

Spit out-- Eve's apple grown to monstrous size — 

Your ocean streams to purge your external of its 

Infectious load ; although it roughly purl 

At touch of such corrupted stuff. 

O thou Sun, thou quickest flashing orb, 

Too pure for the defiant gaze of man. 

And wherefore not allowed to taint you vrith his sight. 

Thou never failing disc of bright effulgence, 

How like this house of wickedness in shape, 

Appearance, form ; this compare 

Can the wicked and the virtuous bear. 

For as round thy finished circle, glistening 

In its purity is induced to move 

This sphere, base counterfeit of thyself. 

Or like the magnet followed by its kin. 

Thus stand together the evil and the good 

This last even in hi? very essence 

Doth draw the former on, and lie alway 

Dogs his footsteps ; for the righteous face 

He dare not look upon, but fawning there. 



'9 



Skulks and sneaks about his heels; then 

Currishly slinks away. So do they all. 

And this on which we are is the offensive 

Pound for dogs and curs ; for vile reptiles, 

And venomed snakes ; and mad beasts, quick 

Fall upon each other, devour and feast your greed. 

Now suck your measled bodies ; then pitch 

To ravenous flees your foul carcasses. 

Ugh ! let me crawl from out this stinking mire, 

This sloughy hole, this sloppy earth. — 

Then looking at the picture. 
Shall I kill me, shall I? 
Ha ! ha ! I cheat the world. 
I come P'rancisque. 

Stabs himself. 

Pierre enters tvith servant. 
Pier. Heaven ! what has he done ? 

Servant runs t» his master. 
Ser. Master ! master ! my dear master ! speak ! 

Rising. 
Never, oh, never! this life he has finished, — 
Has begun another up above. 
Pier. O how awful 

Is this sight ! Oh God ! I've seen enougTi 
To make me till death a raving maniac. 
Ser. I pray you, take it not thus to heart, 



'Twill all end well, when heaven sees fit it shall. 

Know that three score years is but very brief 

Prelude for eternal time in heaven. 

Pier. {To hivisilf.) No wonder at it. 

These dire misfortunes 

Could kill a man, how could she survive 

Their fatal force. Alone, I am alone, 

To wander blindly on through life, to grope 

My solitary way, among this heartless 

World so pitiless, so cold. 

Ser. Nay, nay, I pray you sir, do not thus 

Take on, let yourself be comforted, 

Why so startled at this change from earth 

To heaven. Is there found in this transition 

Such curdling horror, agonizing throes. 

As rack one often on a bed of sickness, 

Or do they but substitute for grievous. 

Earthly ills and pangs and manifold 

Anxieties of this crossing world. 

The heavenly delight and blissful state 

Of our Master's Cou.it above ? 

Sobbing. 
God wills it so. 

Weeping. 
Woe ! my master, woe ! his great love for her. 

Pierre broken hearted sits down. 
Pier. May it please God, soon to call me hence. 



■''>'" '^willilil 



LIBRftRY OF CONGRESS 




Voi6 103 732 1 



m 



Hollinger C 
pH 8.5 




HoUinger Corp. 
pH 8.5 



